Here I stepped in again from the door. As chief of my lady’s establishment, I couldn’t allow this sort of loose talk about a servant of ours going, or not going, to proceed any longer in my presence, without noticing it.
“You must be mistaken about Rosanna Spearman,” I said. “If she had been going to leave her present situation, she would have mentioned it, in the first place, to me.”
“Mistaken?” cries Mrs. Yolland. “Why, only an hour ago she bought some things she wanted for travelling—of my own self, Mr. Betteredge, in this very room. And that reminds me,” says the wearisome woman, suddenly beginning to feel in her pocket, “of something I have got it on my mind to say about Rosanna and her money. Are you either of you likely to see her when you go back to the house?”
“I’ll take a message to the poor thing, with the greatest pleasure,” answered Sergeant Cuff, before I could put in a word edgewise.
Mrs. Yolland produced out of her pocket, a few shillings and sixpences, and counted them out with a most particular and exasperating carefulness in the palm of her hand. She offered the money to the Sergeant, looking mighty loth to part with it all the while.
“Might I ask you to give this back to Rosanna, with my love and respects?” says Mrs. Yolland. “She insisted on paying me for the one or two things she took a fancy to this evening—and money’s welcome enough in our house, I don’t deny it. Still, I’m not easy in my mind about taking the poor thing’s little savings. And to tell you the truth, I don’t think my man would like to hear that I had taken Rosanna Spearman’s money, when he comes back tomorrow morning from his work. Please say she’s heartily welcome to the things she bought of me—as a gift. And don’t leave the money on the table,” says Mrs. Yolland, putting it down suddenly before the Sergeant, as if it burnt her fingers—“don’t, there’s a good man! For times are hard, and flesh is weak; and I might feel tempted to put it back in my pocket again.”
“Come along!” I said, “I can’t wait any longer: I must go back to the house.”
“I’ll follow you directly,” says Sergeant Cuff.
For the second time, I went to the door; and, for the second time, try as I might, I couldn’t cross the threshold.
“It’s a delicate matter, ma’am,” I heard the Sergeant say, “giving money back. You charged her cheap for the things, I’m sure?”